Rhett's Return
by Hat as a Madder
Summary: Post-Rough & Ready. Pre-taxes. / Our favorite couple, an epiphany, and appreciation.
1. Chapter 1

**Rhett's Return**

**A Fanfic by AnnaSmiles95**

This is basically just a spin-off sort of thing. Rhett has left her at Rough and Ready. Scarlett goes through the story, hardening her heart gradually, and killing a Yankee. But what if Rhett had returned to her? What if the shell around her heart hadn't fully formed? Would he be able to chip away the pieces, or would the story end in the same tragedy?

Narrative will be third person. Scarlett will be the center of the story, but we will have occasional to frequent (depending on the scene) insights into Rhett's thoughts, as well. I hope you enjoy!

I am not Margaret Mitchell. I am nowhere near as talented. I do not claim to be. I'm not trying to mimic her writing style, but I'll keep her characters true to themselves.  
I won't be repeating the above^ in front of every chapter, like some authors on here. I'm too lazy. So, remember (because we all know I'm on par with her, right? haha) that I am not Margaret Mitchell; that her estate needn't sue me; that doesn't have to remove me. (=


	2. She'd Changed

**Author's Note: **Review, please! I appreciate the Favorite Story and Story Alert, but I love reviews even more. (=

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**She'd Changed:**

**Scarlett's Opening Thoughts**

_This is just a short bit so that we can truly enter Scarlett's mind. I promise actual dialogue and interactions will be in the rest of the story. I realize it's annoying not to have any real action, but I needed to get Scarlett's mind out there before it's influenced by her emotions when conversing or doing things._

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Scarlett sat on her bed, reflecting on her life. She had fought, fought with a passion, and had she been rewarded? Not at all.

Her life, however passionate, couldn't be considered valiant. Her wishes were petty; selfish. But she deserved them! She needed to be cared for and catered to: it was how she was bred!

She spent her girlhood learning how to pretend to be unintelligent. She spent her early teenage years perfecting coquettish skills. She spent her mid to late teens aspiring to woo every man in the county; she succeeded. But, the one who was the most distant, Ashley, went and married that mealy-mouthed little Melanie. Ashley was the one she really cared about, not the others.

Ashley, though, had gone off to war. That stupid war—that stupid man! Why, at least Rhett had stayed out through most of it; he'd only truly lost his head at the end. Ashley was so idiotic; what help had he been to his dying wife? To the woman he claimed he truly loved, Scarlett herself?

Ashley wouldn't like the fighting. He couldn't fight well. He was contributing absolutely nothing to the Glorious Cause (though, admittedly, Scarlett couldn't care a lick about that). Yet he continued to parade about, while Melly was sick and Scarlett was left to care for her and all the others.

Scarlett shook herself. She shouldn't be thinking like this. Why, she loved Ashley! She should think he was noble for going to War for their lovely old South. But that was just it, wasn't it? It was in the past. Even if they won the war, things would never go back to they way they were. Rhett had been right; wars were excruciatingly foolish.

Yet Rhett had gone. Rhett, damn him, had left her stranded. He had kissed her, told her he loved her, and left her. Damn him! Damn her, for letting him!

She should've gone after him. The kiss had left her dazed. She hadn't truly realized he was gone until far too late. She needed Rhett! Rhett meant safety. Rhett meant that she could stop trying so hard to be everything they needed. Rhett would find a way to help Tara. Rhett was Rhett!

Why was she thinking about him? She didn't care what happened to him, the cad! Deserting her there, leaving her and Melly, Prissy, and Wade for dead! He said she'd make it, though. He thought she'd survive on sheer determination. Well, she did, didn't she? She made it, just to spite him. Had he known she'd do so? He knew her so well.

Her anger, against her will, vanished. He could infuriate her so, but only when he was here to jeer at her and egg her on. She'd noticed that she'd wanted to see him more and more often of late. She wanted to talk with someone who'd listen to her; someone who she could be Scarlett O'Hara with, and not Charles Hamilton's widow. She wanted to have him talk down to her, so that she could realize her small, little problems were insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

But that was ridiculous. Why should she want to see Rhett? She loved Ashley! She should want to see Ashley. Strangely, she didn't. With Ashley, she had to be a flirtatious belle who didn't know a lick. With Rhett she was proud of her intellect; he respected her for it.

She wondered why she loved Ashley. He certainly wasn't very strong or brave. He wasn't like the man she'd always dreamed of—someone who she could respect. But Ashley was a symbol of all that was good; all that she had ever known. Ashley was the pre-war golden days.

Scarlett blinked—once, twice, three times; trying to make sense of her head. Ashley was her past. Her past that was never going to come back. Ashley wasn't the man she loved; he was the idea she loved. The time period. The dream.

She didn't love Ashley! She never really did. Oh, he and his stupid propriety were so foolish she couldn't believe she'd ever thought to care for him.

She stopped herself. What had brought on this sudden revelation? Scarlett wasn't one to dwell on things, to analyze her feelings. She was a fighter; she was fervent; zealous, certainly—but not one to ponder just why she was so.

Come to think of it, she'd changed quite a bit since Rhett left her.

She'd changed when it came to fear. Scarlett had been scared before, but it was always of something logical; concrete. She'd started having terrifying dreams, dreams of mist and hunger and want. She was frightened, and it both angered and confused her.

She'd changed when it came to priorities. Certainly, she loved herself as much as ever. However, now she had to care for Melly, Suellen, Careen, Gerald, Dilcey, Prissy, Pork, Mammy, and Wade. It was hell, but she could stand hell. She could do anything for the sake of Tara.

She'd changed when it came to morality. Her mother, the sole voice of reason in her head, had died. Scarlett was left with no 'What would mother think?' Rather, she'd shot a man. Killed a Yankee. Murdered a human being.

She'd changed.

But, oh, what she wouldn't do to have someone to bring back her old fire; someone to taunt her into fury; someone to remind her of who she was—Katie Scarlett O'Hara. There was no Hamilton about it. She was a Hamilton because of the war. She was a Hamilton because of her infatuation with Ashley. She was a Hamilton because of her own foolishness.

She wasn't a Hamilton. Her name needed to be strong. Her name needed to be fierce. Her name, damn the rest, was Katie Scarlett O'Hara.

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**Author's Note:** What do you think? If you read my other GWTW fanfic, "Safety," I promise this one will be better. "Rhett's Return," will be written in third person, which is my strongest style.  
**Author's Note Post Script:** Just in case you haven't read any of my other fanfics, ANPS stands for Author's Note Post Script. I use it to add in little details that don't fit with the regular author's note. (=


	3. The Former Cotton Fields of Tara

**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoy this one. I know I liked writing it.

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**Chapter Two:  
****The Former Cotton Fields of Tara**

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Scarlett trudged along the path to the old cotton fields. Where once there were rows of green and white, now stood staggered browning stalks in red earth. Nevertheless, being among the soil of so many years' toil brought Scarlett a sense of peace she couldn't find elsewhere. Though she couldn't remember being completely at ease since she'd arrived at Tara, the few hours she could escape each week into the former cotton fields of Tara brought her a calm that her hectic and turmoil-filled life didn't allow her.

She'd look around her, and, instead of seeing a barren wasteland, envision all that it once was. She'd dream up all of the things she could do with the cotton profit once she got the plantation running again. Then, upon sunset, she was forced to go, forced to remember that she had no chance of purchasing cotton seed when she couldn't even feed herself and those she was made to care for.

On this day, however, she'd come to the fields, not to relax after a hectic week, but to escape the confines of the sickrooms. Melly, oh, Melly, that ninny, had insisted on helping tend to Scarlett's sisters. Mammy had barred her from the typhoid-ridden room, but it was Scarlett who'd had to calm her when Melly voiced her concern that she was a burden. Oh, yes, she was a burden! But, damn her, Scarlett wasn't about to let the woman who'd aided in the cover-up of the Yankee's murder die.

Scarlett had removed her shoes at the door; they were too worn to survive the hike through the fields. Her feet, however, protested almost immediately after she entered the rough fields. She sat next to the road, sighing; disgusted with herself and her life.

She was Scarlett O'Hara!—Scarlett O'Hara, who, until those damn Yankees came, was a belle who had never stepped foot outside without slippers, bonnet, and gloves. Now, here she was, in a worn and torn dress, barefoot, barehanded, suntanned and close to tears. The cursed wetness pooled in her eyes, but she didn't allow it to escape.

The war was over. It had been for some time, apparently. A few months, more or less, since they'd found out at the depot yesterday. But what was different? Why, Scarlett hadn't noticed some profound change in her life a few months ago. Rather, it'd become harder, since they'd run out of gold pieces and were left with only paper Yankee money.

Damn those Yankees! She'd heard tell of them raiding and plundering long after the war officially ended. Scarlett didn't know if she'd ever be free of the ominous feeling that there was someone waiting to take what meager life she'd made for herself.

Just as she thought this gloomy sentiment, she heard footsteps behind her, and saw the dust stirring up just beyond her gaze. She didn't turn around, frightened but determined not to let them see it.

"There's nothing left for you to take," she said firmly. She was a terrible liar, but this was the truth. "You took everything the first two times you were here." She took a deep breath, and continued, "I'd appreciate it if you left, please. I—I have no further use to you." She faltered; what if this was the Yankee she'd been warned about—the one who raped; violated and abandoned?

Scarlett began to walk away, trying to portray some semblance of calm and dignity. Still refusing to face the stranger, she turned down a road that led away from Tara, towards the Depot. Just in case.

She'd scarcely taken two steps when a strangely familiar feeling calloused hand grasped her roughly by the shoulder. She let out a tiny shriek, and tried to flee.

"My dear, do you really think that if I were a Yankee your assurances would keep me away?" asked a very familiar voice.

"Oh, Rhett, you scared me so!" Scarlett exclaimed embarassedly, trying to remove his hand. Rhett merely laughed and pulled her into an embrace, his unshaven face scratching her cheek in a not altogether unpleasant manner. It took her a moment, but then she remembered why he was here.

"You cad! You scoundrel! You—you—bastard," she said, pushing him away fiercely. "How dare you come back here and think you can just hold me like that, after you left us? Why, you're no better than Ashley, leaving us here all alone!"

Scarlett didn't really think that, though. Now that her mind was devoid of the sham of obsession that excused all of his faults, she could recognize that Rhett was truly a better man (though certainly not in the gentlemanly sense) than Ashley could ever be.

"Ah, but Scarlett, darling, I return to a perfectly alive and well woman," Rhett replied, albeit a bit distractedly. There was something different about Scarlett. Had her infatuation with the illustrious Ashley finally passed? There was something different in the way she said his name; it was with contempt, disgust.

There was also the fact that Scarlett was certainly not perfectly well. Her cheeks had hollowness about them, and she had the shadows under her eyes that belonged with those of fitful sleep. She'd lost weight, too much too quickly. It hurt him to see his little fighter so drained.

"Damn you! Just leave me alone, Rhett," she said, but then changed her mind. This was the most alive she'd felt in so long! She was arguing, having a conversation that didn't concern the welfare of darkies, of the sick, of the plantation. Thankfully, she was rescued from the embarrassing prospect of inviting Rhett to her house after supper by his arrogant intervention.

"Where, Scarlett, is your humble abode? I believe I require lodging for the night," he said, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. The Yankees, she'd said, had been there twice before. It worried him, but he didn't want to press her, so soon after he'd gotten back.

In another life, Scarlett wouldn't have allowed his possessive arm around her back. It felt so nice, though, to be taken care of once more. She unconciously leaned into him, confusing an already bewildered Rhett Butler.

They walked along, exchanging the playful banter he'd missed so much. He inquired about her life, and though she told him about her family's various illnesses, she never spoke much of herself. She didn't ask about the war; however, he noticed whenever the word 'Yankee' crossed her lips, it was done with a disgusted expression.

Yes, they conversed, but as much as Rhett had missed Scarlett's temper yet playful attitude, he found himself sadly observing her appearance. The tan brought out her eyes even more than her normally fair skin, but the rest of the changes were not for the better. He also noticed a change in her demeanor.

Though Scarlett still had the fire and fervor that characterized her, Rhett saw a new kind of passion. She had, aware of it or not, devoted herself to her family. She loved them, unknowingly, but he could tell the change was greater than that. She didn't shy away from his arm. Rather, she leaned into it, as if grateful the burden she bore was now shared. He couldn't blame her. He would also do everything he could to take that burden away from her. Scarlett wasn't meant to bear so much; Scarlett needed to be pampered, cared for.

By the time they reached the house, it was past sundown. He politely removed his arm, and didn't notice when Scarlett shivered a bit due to the sudden cold.

"Ah, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, may I reside in your home for the night?" he said jeeringly with a bow.

"Oh, hush, Rhett. Mammy will discover you're here in the morning, but I don't want her to know tonight. She'd make too big a fuss over you," she said, but added superiorly, "A fuss you don't deserve."

"Says the very woman I went to war to defend," he replied, not serious but not completely teasing either. He held the door open for her, and she stepped in, immediately making her way towards the guest bedroom, located next to her own.

'Here," she said unceremoniously, glaring while Rhett chuckled.

"Glad to know you care so much," he said, eying her as she made her way next door.

"It wasn't my choice, you know," she said, trying not to let his laugh melt her anger. It'd been so long since someone had laughed! "I didn't build the house."

"No, my dear, of course not," Rhett replied jauntily.

Scarlett allowed herself a small smile, and entered her room. Rhett was home! No, Rhett was at _her_ home. It wasn't as though her home was Rhett's. She allowed herself to truly smile, now that she was away from his prying eyes. How long had it been since she'd seen him? Oh, Rhett's return changed everything! Rhett's return meant that she was truly safe. Rhett's return meant that they'd all be alright, somehow. She found herself filled with a strange and scary urge to hug him. He was back! Rhett had come back to her!

Rhett Butler had rejoined Scarlett O'Hara once more in the quiet and forgotten former cotton fields of Tara.


	4. Not One to be Toyed With

**Author's Note: **I will start every chapter in this fanfic with the word "Scarlett." Just to let you know. Tell me if I slip up, haha. (= I know, pointless, but, hey, why not?

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**Chapter Three:  
****Not One to be Toyed With**

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Scarlett yawned and rubbed her eyes groggily. Sunlight was streaming in through the curtain-less windows and the birds outside her window were singing a chipper melody, unusual compared to the normally mournful tune. Autumn must be coming; the heat was no longer depressing the flocks. If only Scarlett's own anxieties could be appeased so easily.

There was another thing wrong: the sunlight was shining much too brightly. No one had come to wake Scarlett! By this time on any other day, Scarlett would already be caring for her sisters, tending the small and weak but vital garden she'd planted, or fussing with Gerald. Today, though, she was lying in her bed, dazedly pondering the strangeness of it all.

Pondering? She should be panicking! Why, something had to be wrong, no one could do anything on Tara without Scarlett bothering about it. She sprang from her bed, drowsiness clouding her better senses.

She reached for her closest dress, the one she wore while meandering about the cotton fields or tending the garden and memories flooded back. The Yankee! No, Rhett! Rhett's return!

She shouldn't be worrying—Rhett was here. Rhett wouldn't have let anything happen to them; happen to her. She pulled on her stockings, forgoing the uncomfortable shoes for the morning, and yawned once more. Getting a healthy amount of sleep simply made her want more.

She slowly pushed open the door of her room, glancing about. All was quiet. She made her way down to the kitchen, hoping to grab a morsel of something before setting about to discover what was wrong.

Scarlett planned on taking her favorite shortcut through the dining room, and, when she reached the once elegant dining area, her eyes met a very abnormally disheveled Rhett Butler.

"Your sisters are sleeping, and Melanie is reading aloud to Gerald. Mammy's watching over the darkies; they're taking care of the garden," he informed her without any salutation.

Scarlett faltered. "I—Rhett, you—thank you. You don't know how long it's been since I've slept in," she said gratefully.

"I should think so; it's nearly noon," he said jestingly. "Scarlett, my dear, may I present you with a meager brunch?"

"Oh, thank you, Rhett!" she exclaimed. However, some semblance of propriety stirred in her, and she said, albeit grudgingly, "You're the guest, however. Go ahead and eat, you deserve it."

It certainly wasn't a banquet; some cornbread and flavorless potatoes lay on a plate in front of the chair next to Rhett. However, with money being virtually nonexistent, it was a feast in the eyes of a war-ravaged Scarlett.

"Be quiet, Scarlett, and eat," said Rhett, shaking his head. "I won't have you pretending to have manners in my presence."

"You won't have me? What makes you think you can control what I do?" she said angrily. "Besides, I don't _pretend_ to have manners. Unlike present company, I am a lady."

"I'd certainly prefer to be a gentlemen than a lady, but, seeing as your and I are neither, I suggest you eat, dear," he responded easily.

Though she gave him a venomous glance, the food did look welcome and she made her way over and sat down next to him. She made a point of daintily folding her napkin on her lap, becoming disappointed when he merely laughed rather than apologizing. She ate ravenously, not noticing Rhett's eyes pitying her.

That poor girl! Rhett wondered how long it had been since she'd had a proper meal, or a day just to relax. Most likely, she'd had none since he'd left her. He still felt guilty for abandoning her there, but she certainly wasn't helpless. Smiling, he thought of her spitefulness and passion, so much like him.

"So," Scarlett began, having finished her humble meal. "How long will you be staying here? I don't want you to—I mean, certainly there's nowhere for you to go, is there?"

She didn't know why, but Scarlett took comfort in his presence. Even his being here for only a night and the subsequent morning left her feeling calmer, safer; angrier, too, as he laughed at her pitiful attempt to seem nonchalant.

"Well, my dear, I do have a large bank account," he said happily. Interpreting his statement wrongly, Scarlett bristled.

"You needn't throw your money in my face, you scoundrel! You know I've got none, and," she said vehemently, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't remind me; I've got enough reminders as it is. Besides, though I already knew you were a cad, I wouldn't have thought you'd sink this low; I let you stay in my house!"

He looked at her blankly, torn between exasperation, amusement, and indignation. He knew how much Scarlett valued money, and he had just learned of her opinion of him. She thought him capable of proclaiming love, kissing, and then taunting. Then again, hadn't he already proved himself capable of proclaiming love, kissing, and abandoning? The latter certainly seemed to justify her assumptions.

"Scarlett, darling, calm down! I'm not about to leave you here," he said, slightly annoyed. "When have I ever abandoned you in your time of need?" he asked, but regretted it immediately, seeing the fire in her eyes. He didn't want to fight just yet. "Sorry, dear, I'd forgotten."

Again, he chose the wrong words. Angrily, Scarlett opened her mouth, ready to badger and berate, but Rhett cut her off. "Scarlett, didn't I tell you I loved you? Last time we met, if I remember correctly," he said, knowing that he'd never forget. "If I remember correctly, I told you I loved you, and kissed you. And, my dear, you certainly didn't protest."

Scarlett reddened, stuttered, and stormed out of the room. Oh, that scoundrel! That cad! How dare he remind her of that day, the one that had started this whole mess? As if she actually cared for him; as if she believed that he wouldn't leave her. The nerve of him!

She concluded that he was simply toying with her emotions. No, her thoughts, she didn't hold any emotion for him whatsoever. Regardless, he was toying with her, and she wasn't going to let him have any fun. Scarlett O'Hara was not one to be toyed with.


	5. In Her Bedroom!

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long for me to update. My writing time has been devoted to my original fantasy story and my Lily &James fanfic. But I'm back, dear reader!

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**Chapter Four:  
****In Her Bedroom!**

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Scarlett stood on the stair, revolver in hand, trying to see around the banister at the strange man. He was clad in a Yankee uniform, and he had his grimy paws on her mother's things. How dare he do that? He couldn't touch Ellen's things! They were sacred items, and he didn't deserve them.

Scarlett automatically took a step forward and raised the gun, but the sound she made startled the soldier. He turned toward her, confused for only a moment before his face broke out in a sickening grin. He put Ellen's possessions down and walked toward Scarlett, arm extended menacingly.

Scarlett's first instinct was to run upstairs. Of course she couldn't do that! Melly and the girls were up there! She couldn't scream, either. That would call them down to face the Yankee's wrath as well.

She made to pull the trigger, but he had wrenched it from her before she could even consciously choose to shoot. She started shaking, and let out a small scream.

"Scarlett," he said blankly.

How did he know her name?

"Scarlett?" he repeated, now questioning.

What on earth was happening?

"Scarlett," he insisted, now shaking her. "Scarlett, darling, wake up."

Wake up? Why, what on earth did he mean?

He bent closer to her, his face inches from her own. "Scarlett, dear, get up. You're having a nightmare."

He repeated the same thing over and over again; his face blurring and voice changing. Scarlett found she couldn't see, so she rubbed them and then opened her eyes. Her hand flew to her chest when she saw Rhett Butler bent over her, stroking her hair and murmuring incoherent but comforting words.

His face was so concerned, so devoid of mockery, that it hardly seemed like Rhett's face at all. Scarlett couldn't help but wonder what he was doing here. She'd had a nightmare—what if she'd woken him? But he was so abnormally kind; she was glad he was here.

"So, my pet, are we awake now?" Rhett asked, remembering himself and ceasing to stroke her hair. "I'm sure that was quite a dream."

"A nightmare," Scarlett corrected, shivering in the cool air now that Rhett's body wasn't bent over hers. She looked down at her body, remembering she was in bed wearing only a light gown… And Rhett was here with her. Rhett was in her bedroom! "You have to go, Rhett, you can't be here!"

"Why not?"

"Me—I'm only—my clothes," Scarlett said, trying to find the right words to tell him that proprieties must be observed. Oh, if only he was a gentleman! He'd realize what she meant. Then again, was he a gentleman, he wouldn't have woken her and saved her from the worst part of the dream.

"Of course… 'A man must never enter the living quarters of a woman unless the pair is wed.'" Rhett laughed at her, jeering at himself as well as Scarlett. "Have we ever listened to societal laws before now?"

"Well, I—I mean, I—I'm not—I haven't," Scarlett stuttered angrily. "You're one to talk! Just because you don't care a lick about what anyone says—" she began again, but Rhett cut her off.

"You truly don't either, darling. You came out of mourning, didn't you? That was the first, but certainly not the last," he smiled.

"You made me!"

"I made you?"

"Yes."

"How could I make you forget your upbringing? I should have no effect on you," he stated. "In fact, you should do the opposite of what I encourage you to do, considering you claim you hate me."

"_Claim_ I hate you, Rhett?" Scarlett questioned, seething.

"You don't really. We're too much alike," he informed her. "In fact, if I didn't know you could never love anyone but yourself and the godly Ashley Wilkes…" he trailed off, lost in his thoughts.

Scarlett was suddenly distracted from her anger. "I don't. Not really—I don't think I ever did," she said, still confused by her epiphany.

"You don't what, darling?" Rhett questioned cautiously, keeping his face impassive.

"Love Ashley," she told him, looking into his face. Though his features remained carefully neutral, in his eyes gleamed something like primal triumph. That was strange. It was almost as if Rhett really loved her. Like he had been telling the truth…

"You've finally reached that conclusion, have you?" he questioned, ever teasing.

"Rhett, do you love me?" Scarlett blurted without preamble.

"Scarlett?"

"Do you, Rhett? Really, do you?" she questioned. A part of her realized how rude she was being; a part didn't want to know the answer; a part, unexplained and unbidden, longed for him to say yes.

"Do _you_ love _me_?" Rhett countered, moving from the foot of the bed to Scarlett's side. "'Really, do you?'" he mocked, but Scarlett wasn't going to let him distract her.

"I asked you first," she said smugly.

"I told you first," he replied, and for a moment the pair was remembering the minutes at Rough and Ready. Scarlett closed her eyes, concentrating on how she'd felt at the time.

She couldn't love Rhett. He was a rascal and a scoundrel and a cad. But wasn't she? He was brutal in his mannerisms at times, but there were moments when he was so unbelievably thoughtful and caring…

She thought of the kiss. That kiss had been unlike any other kiss she'd ever had. It wasn't allowed or initiated by Scarlett in order to keep, gain, or any number of other things regarding her beaux. It wasn't certainly wasn't unpleasant, like Charles' had been, even in their most intimate moments.

Rhett had invaded her thoughts, her heart, her very being in that kiss. Rhett had taken over her completely, but Scarlett knew she'd done the same to him. No man who acted with such passion could claim he wasn't in love. He might not ever admit it again, but Rhett loved her.

Did Scarlett love Rhett?

She thought he was an awful excuse for a human being, but that never stopped her from delighting in his presence. It was so nice to be herself—to talk about unwomanly things and be applauded for her intelligence. It was wonderful to have someone who knew the real Scarlett and still liked her, loved her, for it.

Scarlett couldn't deny that Rhett was handsome. He had the swarthy, healthy, whole look of a pirate or sailor. But there was also his personality. He could jeer at anything, and take pleasure in everything. He could make her think, and he could make her laugh, and he could make her angry and indignant and spiteful—and happy.

They sat, lost in their thoughts in her bedroom. Did Scarlett love Rhett?

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**Author's Note:** The next chapter won't be a new scene, as is usual. Instead, it will be a continuation of this same scene.


	6. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

**Author's Note: **Let's just jump right in. I'm not bothering with exposition or anything, so just remember this is the same scene as the last one. Enjoy, fellow GWTW fans! (=  
**ANPS: **Do you guys want to help me out? I'm typing, and 'Rhett Kinnicutt Butler' comes out. Now, I can't recall ever reading anything in GWTW other than Rhett K. Butler, but I'm pretty sure, as random as I may be, this wasn't one of my many strange name spew sessions. Where exactly did 'Kinnicutt' come from?  
**ANPPS: **Fun fact: I spent ten minutes debating on the chapter title. It's rather sad. I settled on the one you see now, but I also considered "Yes," "Inform the Paper," and "You."

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**Chapter Five:  
****Actions Speak Louder Than Words**

* * *

Yes.

Yes?

Yes!

Yes, she loved him. Yes, she was sure about it. Yes, Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton loved Rhett Kinnicutt Butler!

Scarlett's heart seemed to stop for a moment. How could she love a cad such as that? Why, what if it was only an infatuation, as with Ashley? Oh, she could never stand that again.

But what if it wasn't just an infatuation? Scarlett always found her "love" making excuses for Ashley's flaws because she had to work at the upkeep of her illusion of him. With Rhett, however, she admitted his many faults and, in some cases, grudgingly admired them. Didn't that mean—but it had to mean—what if it truly—she loved him, the real him, unlike Ashley.

Rhett had been gazing vacantly at her while they both contemplated, but she really felt his eyes on her now. She seized his arm and looked at him, startled by her epiphany.

"Scarlett?" he asked, mildly alarmed at her suddenness.

"Do you love me?" she inquired without preamble.

Rhett stroked his mustache. He loathed giving her such power over him, much as he adored her. However, when he looked into her eyes the blazing emotion in them caught him off guard.

"Why?" he asked, struggling to keep up the nonchalant façade. "Do you expect me to confess my undying devotion to you simply because I'm in your bedroom? I've never been one for proprieties, Scarlett, you know that."

"So you don't?" she asked and her face fell. She was a fool! He could never love her. Why would he? He'd said he knew smarter and prettier women—but also that he always remembered her…

He felt a rush of affection at her display of emotion. What if—possibly—unlikely, but possible—Scarlett really cared for him? What if she felt the same way? Rhett Butler wasn't used to not knowing the answers. He didn't like the wondering feeling.

"Yes, Miss O'Hara, I love you—for your courage, for your charm, for your sheer nerve and personality. I love you just to spite you at times," he said in a rare moment in which all walls were down. "But that spite grows out of jealousy."

What had he just done? He was a fool! An utter, absolute fool! Scarlett would never let him live this down. Why had he even thought that she could care? He regretted his sentiments immediately, but this went unnoticed by a bemused Scarlett.

Loved her, did he? And jealous! Oh, Rhett! Scarlett's coquettish ways couldn't help but surface, strongly, now, since this was the most important beau she'd ever had—the only one she'd wanted so much as to be open and honest.

"Why, Rhett, you know I don't love Ashley," she said with a small smile. "You can't love two people at once," she hinted. She could be open with Rhett about anything, but she found herself as nervous as a new bride at the prospect of confessing her feelings. He'd have to guess, assume, notice—she couldn't be as brash as to exclaim her love.

"Two?" Rhett asked, keeping his face impassive though his heart and mind were battling. His heart recognized unconsciously what she was implying, but his mind, in the turmoil of self-depreciation, wrote it off as merely a simpering act.

"Yes," she said simply.

"Do I know him?"

"Quite well, I'd think," she said indignantly. Of all times for Rhett to be unintelligent!

"My dear, of all people, you are the only I know quite well," he informed her. "Everyone else is distrusting."

"With good reason," she said, though her remark was filled with less venom than usual. She wanted to scream, though. Rhett Butler, use your common sense! I love you!

"I agree completely," he concurred. "However, my precious Scarlett, I find myself without answer to my original inquiry. Who has the beautiful Scarlett O'Hara's heart finally picked?"

Scarlett held up a finger. She obviously couldn't rely on his being perceptive. "Give me a moment," she said. Rhett didn't like to be silenced, but she ignored his protests, watching his angry lips form unheard words. Those lips… She found herself thinking of Rough and Ready.

What better way to convey feelings?

"You," she blurted.

"I what, Scarlett?" Rhett asked.

Scarlett couldn't help but roll her eyes. Of all the things for him to be lacking in, why common sense?

She leaned forward, ever-debating with herself as to her actions. A lady wouldn't do this! A lady would never initiate a—

Rhett was taken aback. Scarlett held his cheeks in her hands and her breath tickled his nose. Caught off guard, he stuttered, and Scarlett took advantage of the open mouth.

Her fingers were on his chest, around his neck, holding his strong arms. His hands were at her back, playing in her hair, caressing her cheek. He melted at her touch. It felt so strange for Rhett to surrender, but both of them knew this strangeness was nothing compared to the ecstasy the moment their lips met, and the several long moments afterwards.

They broke apart, gasping for air. Their eyes met in an unspoken plea: don't go away. Scarlett wouldn't think of her rash actions tomorrow. Rhett wouldn't travel away from his problems to a distant place.

"I love you," said Scarlett simply. She could tell him, now, after what had passed between them. How could she not? Rhett gaped at her, and Scarlett teased, "Rhett Butler is at a loss for words? Why, I'll have to inform the paper!"

"Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler are to be wed? Why, _I_'ll have to inform the paper," he countered with a sly grin.

"To be wed, Rhett?"

"We're getting married," he told her, jeering as always but with a peaceful smile.

"Don't I have any say in the matter?" Scarlett asked in indignant confusion.

"Not at all, my dear," Rhett replied silkily, pulling her closer. Their bodies were pressed together so tightly it wasn't proper, even if they had already been wed. Scarlett shivered, but not unpleasantly. "You needn't say anything at all. After all, sweetheart, actions speak louder than words."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Alright, it's officially up to you. Do I leave you with this, do a single 'epilogue' chapter, or continue the story of their life together? I've presented you with three options and, in a rare instance of diplomacy, I'm leaving it up to you rather than simply writing what I feel is best. (=  
**ANPS: **I'll be tallying votes regarding subsequent posting on Thursday, October fifteenth. *Cue Uncle Sam poster* _I want you_ to vote!


	7. Blockade Runner to Wed Southern Belle

**Author's Note: **The 'continuing their life together' vote won, but I'm going to post that under a different title. This is just a short epilogue I enjoyed writing before I actually post said sequel

**Epilogue:**

**Blockade Runner to Wed Southern Belle**

Belle Watling wasn't known for her kind heart or caring demeanor, except by a certain few who knew her. She hadn't the proper attitude that fit her occupation; rather, she found herself falling love with a client.

How could she not? The client was nice and handsome, furnishing her house and visiting her frequently. She knew she could never wed the client, but she also knew that she would see him again. He visited her and her girls quite frequently.

How surprised was Belle, then, when she opened the daily paper that was tossed carelessly onto her doorstep.

"Blockade Runner to Wed Southern Belle."

Belle wouldn't have thought anything of it, except that it was on the front page. Only one man had so much money that he would spend it announcing to the world that he was to be married. That man, of course, was the client she loved.

She skimmed the article and felt her eyes widen and jaw drop. Rhett Butler, Belle's own Rhett, was marrying that wretched Scarlett Hamilton. Why, what on earth was he thinking? Belle knew he'd been sweet on Scarlett briefly, but then he had gone and left her during the War.

Come to think of it, though, she hadn't heard from him since he left. What if he had gone to Scarlett? Oh, Belle could stand it if he married her, though. Rhett, just like every other married man in Atlanta, would visit her parlor discreetly. Belle looked forward to his visits after the date of the wedding past and the couple moved back to Atlanta.

Scarlett and Rhett had decided put off their honeymoon until Scarlett's farm down in Clayton could be taken care of. Belle hadn't bothered to learn the name of it—why should she? Belle didn't give a lick what Scarlett did so long as she kept Rhett in Atlanta.

When taxes and seed and food had been paid for, Belle worried that Rhett and Scarlett would leave on a honeymoon. Instead, they began building an ostentatious house on the corner of Peachtree.

Surely, now that the novelty of early marriage nights had worn off, Rhett would come to see her. Belle waited in anticipation every night for the visit of Rhett Butler to her parlor. He never came.

After a month of marriage, Belle decided to confront him. She could flirt and try to manage him—surely he missed her, even if it was just her body. She passed him on the street, but always, he was accompanied by Scarlett or up in a carriage where she couldn't converse with him. Finally, she spied him walking alone to the bank and she took the opportunity gratefully.

"Mist' Butler," she called. Rhett's head turned, looking all around him. "O'er here, Rhett!"

"Oh, Miss Watling—Belle—how fine to see you," he said, tipping his hat and continuing to walk. Belle went after him. Seeing this, he stopped and stood, waiting for Belle to speak.

"I ain't seen you at all since your weddin'," she informed him. "Now, you wouldn't be goin' to see some otha girls, would you?"

"No, Belle, of course not," he said with a jaunty grin. "Were I going to see anyone, it would be you."

"I wish I could believe you," said Belle with what she hoped was an alluring fluttering-of-eyelashes. "But I ain't seen you since you was married."

"I haven't gone to see anyone," he informed her.

"You don't mean you're still stuck on that Scarlett creature?" Belle asked, the picture of a simpering flirt.

"I'm afraid I am," said Rhett, his eyes betraying rare emotion, "Though heaven knows why."

Belle said goodbye. She'd seen too many cases like this; her Rhett was hopeless. Scarlett certainly had him wrapped around her dainty little finger. Belle wondered how this had happened—Rhett wasn't one to be dependent on anyone, let alone a woman.

His misty eyes, though, had betrayed him. He was helplessly in love. Belle couldn't have him. No one but Scarlett would ever have him that way.

Belle Watling said a silent prayer that Scarlett's cattiness would lead Rhett back to Belle. It was a bleak prayer, one that she never really believed would work, but she said it just the same. She had to hope.

Belle Watling loved Rhett Butler. Rhett Butler loved Scarlett Butler.

What on earth had Belle done wrong? She wasn't Scarlett. She never had any chance.

"Blockade Runner to Wed Southern Belle," she mouthed at the sky. The southern belle was Scarlett. The name Belle was herself. If only it was simply, "Blockade Runner to Wed Belle."


End file.
